“Sure,” said Bud. “Good.”
“Let me show you which room is yours,” Garland said as she walked toward a long hall with doors on either side, hotel style. She stopped two doors before the end, where there were two large double doors.
Bud glanced at the number next to the door. Nine.
“This is you,” Garland said as she opened the door. The room was large, made to feel even more so by the fact that there was little furniture. “Don’t worry about the lack of style. You can do what you want with the place.” She looked at the inside of the door, pulled a key from the deadbolt lock, and handed it to Bud. “This is the only key. If you lose it, we’ll get a locksmith, but we want you to feel safe. Now sometimes the men who live here get a little rowdy. Sometimes they bring women back here. Just ignore it. They absolutely will not bother you. On pain of death.”
Bud barked out a laugh at that. “Pain of death?”
Garland gave her most serious look and said, “Definitely.”
“Good to know.” She looked around. “This is so nice of you.”
Garland shook that off. “Now about tonight. Here are your choices. You can stay in here and get settled. You can eat in the kitchen with whoever is here and start getting to know them. You could bring food back here if you want. The laundry is on the other side of the kitchen if you need it, but Brenda will give you a tour in the morning.”
Bud could see that Garland was waiting for an answer. “I guess I’ll, um, get settled and eat in the kitchen. No point in hiding in here. But…”
“What? Don’t be afraid to say what’s on your mind around here. Believe me. Everybody else does.”
“Will somebody tell me what’s going on with Johns? I don’t know what to expect. Can he have phone calls or visitors or…? I don’t know.”
Garland’s face softened. “Brant will let you know the second he knows anything. Now I’ll be here tomorrow at eleven fifteen to pick you up for the doctor. We’ll go shopping after that.”
“Thank you.”
“If you think you’re okay, I’m going home. Is there anything else I can do for you first? You want me to introduce you to everyone?”
“They all know who I am. Right?”
“Yes. They do. They’re all going to think you hung the moon because of what you said about Cann. So don’t worry about being accepted. You already are. Now that you live here, think of the kitchen as yours. You can go down there any time of the day or night and get anything you want.”
Bud nodded. “Thank you,” she said again.
“It’s not a gift. Just a statement of the way the place works.” Garland patted her on the forearm. “See you tomorrow.”
When she left, Bud found herself alone for the first time since Cann had told her to come out from behind the vending machines and state her business. She sat down on the bed and looked around the room. She hadn’t just been saying she was grateful that she’d landed on her feet. She was grateful all the way down to her toenails. But she was also eaten alive with guilt that Cannon Johns was in jail while she was sitting in a nice safe, dry room.
She thought about crying for a few seconds, but decided it would be a waste of time. It wouldn’t change a thing, wouldn’t help Cann in any way, and being overly emotional might be bad for the baby.
So she got up, used the toilet and unpacked her few things from the fabulous Brahmin bag she’d essentially swiped from a rich woman who had, by all appearances, settled for money instead of love. As Bud ran her fingers over the beautiful bag she tried to imagine why someone would make that choice because, certainly, nothing in the world could be better than being loved.
Bud changed into the skinny jeans, the tunic top, and the low-heeled sandals, thinking that might be more appropriate. She opened the door and walked down the hall, but everything was quiet. There was nobody in the bar or in the lounge area, but she heard laughter coming from further back in the building.
Following the sound, she walked the length of the bar, turned left and headed into the part of the complex that was the heart of the club; the kitchen, pantry, laundry, and covered walkway to the warehouse that served as a garage for a wide array of vehicles. Behind that was the kennel and Rescue’s cottage where he gave three dogs sleepover privileges every night.
When she entered the kitchen everything came to a full stop.
Bud stood one step inside the doorway taking in the scene. It was a large commercial kitchen that was a study in stainless steel. Refrigerators, sinks, cabinets, gas ranges, and ovens lined the walls. In the middle of the large room was a stainless steel island, long, narrow and counter height, that doubled as a dining table. Stools with arms and leather seats and backs were sturdy enough for big rambunctious bikers. There were enough to seat thirty people at a time.
While the stainless steel was without color, the room was not. The walls above the cabinetry were painted with murals of Austin scenes and classic motorcycles in vibrant hues that brought both life and warmth to the room. The pièce de résistance was a counter height fireplace framed in red brick that sat between ovens and gas ranges.
She fell in love with it instantly.
Eight faces congregated near the end of the island/table closest to her turned toward her expectantly. Brenda and seven bikers. She recognized a few from the night she and Cannon had arrived and there was Brash, whom she’d met that afternoon. Beautiful Brash. She was sure that, if she’d seen him first, she’d be crushing hard.
Sitting at the end near the door, he gave Bud a big grin and pushed the stool next to him with his foot. “Come on over here and sit, darlin’. We’re having some of Brenda’s gooey chicken enchiladas.”
She gave Brash a grateful smile for being welcoming and took a seat on the stool. “Thank you.”
“I’m not normally here ‘cause I’m a married guy with an actual life.” Some of the others scoffed. One threw a tortilla chip at his head.
“Hey!” Brenda said in a schoolteacher voice. She had gotten up to get Bud a place setting, but whirled around with hands on her hips. “How many times I gotta tell you? The food is for eating. So grow the hell up and eat.”
Brash turned back to Bud with a smile. “I was sayin’ that I’m not usually here, but my wife is out with girlfriends, faculty members at U.T. You’re probably thinkin’ that doesn’t sound like a good time and I’d have to agree. But it takes all kinds to fill up the freeways. Right?”
“Right,” Bud said as Brenda put a plate and flatware in front of her.
Brenda patted Bud on the shoulder. “You get whatever you want to drink out of that cooler over there.” She pointed to a glass front cooler stocked with bottled waters, soft drinks, and beer.
“Thank you,” she said, sliding off the stool.
As she was grabbing a water, Brash began introducing her to the other people in the room.
“Arnold. Axel. Burn. Car lot. Eric. Rescue.”
“Nice to meet you,” she said as she sat down, feeling a little shy about being the center of attention. “I hope I can remember your names.”
“Well, let’s see if we can help you with that.” Brash smiled. “Arnold is easy because the resemblance is uncanny. Rescue, down there at the end, is easy because he always looks like the crazy homeless guy who won’t make eye contact. Eric. Just think Eric the Viking. The fact that he’s taller than a person should be will help you remember. As for the others, they’re just not that important.”
“Hey,” came a chorus of voices and half a basket of tortilla chips was thrown at Brash’s head.
Brenda turned even redder than usual and looked ready to pull the bazooka out from behind the giant sack of flour.
“I’m not pickin’ those up,” she said.
“Yeah.” Brash glared at the others. “Pick those up.”
Axel and Burn got up and picked the chips off the floor even though Bud knew for a fact they hadn’t thrown them.
She leaned toward Brash and said, “They’re not the ones who
did it.”
Brash gave her a charmingly amused smirk. “They’re prospects, darlin’. It’s their job to clean up after patched-in members.”
“Oh.” She looked down at the plate where Brenda was delivering chicken enchiladas from a casserole dish with a spatula. “This smells…”
Eric jumped in. “Taste it. It’s as good as it smells. We’re sure hopin’ you’ve got some kitchen chops because Brenda here is gonna leave some big shoes to fill.”
Brenda returned to her seat beaming from the compliment. “Don’t you worry,” she said to Bud. “These boys will eat anything. Raw. Burned. Too much tabasco. Don’t matter. They’re eating machines.”
Bud nodded and smiled. “That’s good to know.”
“So tell us about your best stuff. What do we have to look forward to?” Eric asked.
“For dinner?” He nodded. “Well, I make a decent stuffed pork chop. I use my own cornbread dressing, I add pecans, sage, and onions. Top it with a brown gravy.” The men exchanged looks. “I know how to fry chicken with honey in the batter. I make a pretty respectable chicken fried steak. I’m good at spaghetti and lasagna. My daddy would ask for meatloaf once a week. I like it with tomato sauce, but I can do it with brown gravy, too. I make a white cheese macaroni and cheese to go with it. My daddy says I make the best whipped potatoes in Texas. When I can get ‘em, I like to do fresh black-eyed peas. We could do a fried catfish night. I have a recipe for hushpuppies that I found in an old cookbook. Hushpuppies are hard to get just right. Takes some practice.”
She took another bite of chicken enchiladas and realized that everyone had stopped eating and was staring at her like she was telling tales from the Arabian Nights.
“Um. Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”
Brenda laughed. “No. You just sent these guys into food fantasy stupor.”
Arnold cleared his throat. “That all sounds really good.”
The others nodded.
Bud smiled and glanced at Brash. It only took ten minutes for the novelty that was Bud to wear off and the room was once again alive with conversation and laughter.
Bud got up to help clear dishes.
“Now you know I told you that you don’t need to start till tomorrow mornin’.”
“I know,” Bud said, “but I’m not busy. And you can tell me how to make gooey chicken enchiladas while we’re cleaning up?”
Brenda smiled. “Get an apron over there.” She jerked her head toward the tall cabinets. “I can tell you’re gonna work out fine, which’ll make it easier for me to leave. I don’t know what Brant told you about the work, but the job title should be house mother.”
When Bud saw that Brash was leaving the room, she hurried after him and touched his shoulder. When he turned around, she said, “Any news?”
His eyes flicked back and forth between hers like he was reading her. “You know what an arraignment is?”
“Not really.”
“It’s when somebody accused of a crime goes in front of a judge and says whether they’re guilty or not guilty.”
Brash saw concern jump into the girl’s facial features. “When is it?”
“Day after tomorrow.”
“He’s not guilty.”
Brash smiled. “I know that. Matter of fact the whole world knows it. Lot of people on TV sayin’ it’s your pop who ought to be under arrest. Course that’s not gonna happen. But he has been persuaded to tell the judge that it was all a misunderstanding and not a kidnapping, as he’d originally said.”
Bud blinked twice while trying to process that. “My daddy’s gonna say he didn’t mean it?”
“Yep.”
“That doesn’t sound like him.”
“Well, with a little pressure applied just right, motives can almost always be manipulated into a better attitude.”
She stared at Brash. “Wow.”
“Yep.”
“Is this a safe place to be?”
“The safest. Why would you ask that question?”
She debated whether or not to answer directly, but concluded that Brash was the kind of man who would know if she was lying. “I know what happened to Johns’ family.”
Brash’s face went dead serious. After a brief pause, he said, “That was tragic. First off, it’s been a long time since this club was into income production of a dubious nature. And I hope this doesn’t sound callous because that’s not what’s in my heart. But second, what you’re talkin’ about didn’t happen here.”
Bud nodded. “I’m not asking for me. I…”
“I know,” he interrupted. “You’ve got somebody else to think about. Did you see the six o’clock news?”
“No.”
“Brenda,” Brash turned to where she was working over the sink, “did you record the six o’clock news?”
“Sure did. Figured there’d be somethin’ about Cann on.”
“I’m takin’ this girl out to the bar then.”
“Okay.” She looked over her shoulder at Bud. “I start cookin’ breakfast at seven.”
“I’ll be here,” Bud said.
There were three big screen TVs in the bar and lounge area of the clubhouse that were synced by AV control. That system had nothing to do with the bank of sixteen screens showing camera angles of every inch of the building exterior, gates, and periphery of the compound.
What was currently playing on the three big screens was the first John Wick.
Without asking for permission, Brash claimed the remote that was velcroed to the back wall of the bar so that the bartender always had final say, and accessed the evening news as recorded a couple of hours earlier.
KXAN headline was about the arrest of Cannon Johns and the extraordinary story of rescuing a young woman and her unborn child.
Seeing Johns put in handcuffs threatened to bring tears to her eyes all over again. It was the first time she’d seen herself on TV. Her reaction was a strange mix of fascination and embarrassment, but overall, she thought she’d done a fair job of leaving the impression that Johns was not just an innocent man, but a modern day knight.
What came next were the scenes Brant had described. More crowds like the ones in Del Rio. Only bigger. As Brant had said there were two locations where people were gathering, the District Court and the capitol.
The next item was a surprise. It was her father standing in front of the Austin Ranger office being interviewed by local press. Flashes were going off so fast that it almost mimicked rapid fire weapons.
“Mr. McIntyre, have you changed your accusation that Cannon Johns kidnapped your underage daughter?”
The man looked both stony and bitter. “It was all a misunderstanding.”
“But he still transported a minor across an international border without documentation of permission. That’s a very serious offense.”
“What the judge decides about that is out of my hands.”
“Have you spoken to your daughter since you saw her at Del Rio?”
“No,” he said simply, and walked away with people firing questions at him.
Brash handed the remote to Eric so that he could find his place in John Wick and restart his movie.
“How serious is it?” she asked Brash. “The crossing border thing.”
Brash shrugged. “It’ll be up to the judge, but judges have motives that can be massaged just like everybody else.”
Bud stared again. “Wow. I don’t think I want to be on the wrong side of you guys.”
Brash gave her a blinding smile. “You don’t. And darlin’, I know you don’t mean anything by it, but if my wife sees you lookin’ at me like that you’re gonna find out why redheads have a reputation for temper.” Bud gaped. “It’s okay. I get it a lot. Just so you know. There’s another guy who comes around here sometimes, looks a whole lot like me. Also married.”
Arnold was walking by when he said that and corrected, “He doesn’t look a whole lot like you. He looks exactly like you.”
Brash shrugged. �
�Identical twins.” While Bud tried to picture that, he went on. “Stop worryin’ about Cann. It’s all gonna be fine.” He chuckled. “Except that he may find that celebrity doesn’t sit well with him.”
“Celebrity,” she repeated, taking on a whole new worry she hadn’t considered before. “You mean like people stopping him on the street?”
“Yeah.” Brash grinned. “Like that. If it happens, it won’t be a bad thing. Right now he’s adored by the multitudes. He just may not like being recognized by strangers. He’s been livin’ under the radar for a long time.”
It wasn’t hard to comprehend what Brash meant. “You don’t think he’ll, um, run again, do you?”
Brash gave her a funny look. “Run?” He seemed to think that over and then sighed deeply. “Honestly. I don’t know. You givin’ him a reason to stay?”
“If he’ll let me.”
“Good enough.”
Bud went to bed with a whole new worry. The day had started with her worrying about whether or not Cann would do time in jail. It ended with her worrying about what Cann would do when he was released.
Bud used the alarm clock by the bed to be sure she was up and in the kitchen at seven. As it happened, she beat Brenda there by ten minutes and was trying to figure out how to use the coffee machine.
“Aren’t you the early bird?” Brenda said. “Here. Like this.”
She showed Bud how to use the coffee maker. “Sometimes it’s persnickety. It’s a six thousand dollar machine. Thinks it’s a racehorse, but all we really need here is a mule. The guys don’t know great coffee from spit. I don’t know why Brant insists on havin’ the best of everything, but he does. Nothin’s too good for these big babies you’ve signed on to take care of. Brant lived here most of his life. Raised Brash here, too. But when Brand and Garland came to Austin, Brant got his own place.”
“Brash has a twin, but they didn’t grow up together?”
NOMAD (Sons of Sanctuary Book 3) Page 12